


WinterIron 37 - Snowman

by tisfan



Series: Stocking Stuffers [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Gen, Identity Porn, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Tony Stark, Pre-Slash, Snow Day, Snowman, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, except not really because they're kids!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony wants to build a snowman.(yes, it has to be a snowman)





	1. Do You Want to Build a Snowman

Tony Stark was seven and his nanny had been dismissed at the beginning of the Christmas holidays. He was going off to boarding school in January, and he didn’t need _coddling_ , and _looking after_ anymore. Which meant that Ana Jarvis, the cook, had been the one to catch him leaving the house after it had just snowed nearly eighteen inches overnight, in only jeans and a sweater.

It wasn’t her responsibility, but Ana had taken care to get Tony into his snowsuit and boots and proper mittens and a hat. If she had private thoughts about a seven year old going out in the snow by himself on the Stark’s vast properties, she kept them to herself, but she also tied her own scarf with its decorative buttons, around Tony’s neck to keep him warm.

Tony ran off into the snow, whooping with delight.

He was just finishing rolling the second snowball for a snowman and trying to figure out how to lift it up onto the first one, when a voice asked him, “Whatchoo doin’?”

Tony huffed, blowing a plume of condensation out of his mouth. “What does it _look like_ I’m doin’?” The newcomer was a little older than Tony, taller. Thin. With dark hair that curled around his face, stuffed under a silver snow hat with a red star on it.

“Either makin’ a snowman that you’re too little t’ lift, or makin’ a snowfort _wrong_ ,” the other kid said.

Tony wanted to cross his arms and give his best Howard Stark glare to the other boy, but he’d already figured out that the snowsuit wouldn’t let him cross his arms. “It’s a snowman. I c’n lift it, I just need a plane.”

The other boy didn’t look impressed. “You’re gonna _airlift_ a snowman?”

“No, no, a plane… a,” Tony said, gesturing, holding one hand at an angle. “A flat board. Don’t you do ramp and friction ‘speriments at your school?”

“No,” the other boy said. “But I know where you c’n get some boards. Wanna show me? I’m Bucky, by the way. Th’ gardener’s son. Who are you?”

“Tony,” Tony said, following the other boy back to the garden shed.

They ended up making two trips to the garden shed to get the snowman’s middle up and on the base, and then Bucky picked Tony up to put the head in place. Bucky donated his hat to the cause of the snowman’s clothing, and Tony wrapped Ana Jarvis’s scarf around its neck.

The boys spent the rest of the holidays together, inseperable from as soon as Ana could get Tony in his snowsuit until Jim called Bucky in for dinner. They made snow forts and talked about television shows. Tony brought some of his model cars outside and they made a race track in the snow.

“I have t’ leave for school in the morning,” Tony told his friend, fighting tears. Howard would probably slap Tony if he saw his son whining about some servant’s boy.

Bucky nodded. Sniffling. “Gonna miss you,” he said. “You’re my best friend.”

Tony threw himself into Bucky’s arms, letting tears fall. “You’re my _only_ friend.” That counted as best, right?

“Here, here,” Bucky said. He snuggled his snow hat onto Tony’s head. “Take it. Take it with you. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ about you, okay?”

A snip of Tony’s multitool and Tony freed one of Ana’s buttons off her scarf. She’d never miss it. “Yeah, you too.”

Bucky closed his hand around the little heart-shaped button. “Bye, Tony.”

“Bye.”

***

It’d been a while since Tony had been home. His parents had required his presence at a few holiday dinners, but he usually managed to come in, stay just long enough to eat dinner and pretend, and then he was gone again.

Now, the house was his. Everything was his.

The house was huge. And empty. Tony didn’t want the place. Jarvis had already made arrangements for the staff to work elsewhere. Tony’d just finished school, and he was going to go out to California for a while. As far from New York and memories as he could manage.

It was snowing. Tony looked out the big back window at the lawn, already six inches deep. He grabbed his coat and a battered hat from the box, silver, with a red star. He ran his fingers over it, smiling, a little. He’d finally left it at home, when he was about fifteen and it didn’t fit anymore, and he hadn’t seen Bucky for eight years.

One of the few good memories he had from this old place.

“Wonder what ever happened to him,” Tony said to himself. His voice echoed oddly in the big house.

Outside, then. He stuffed his hands in his pockets; he didn’t have gloves or lined pants. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for, outside. Peace, maybe.

His feet carried him, as if on automatic, to the spot where the snowfort had been. Of course there was nothing left of it. Further on, to the garden shed. It was older, but still sealed against the weather. Of course it was. Howard wouldn’t have allowed anything to be ramshackle on his property.

There was a light on, in the old gardener’s house. Tony frowned. All the staff was supposed to be gone.

He got about halfway up the walk toward the tiny cottage and the door banged open. The most beautiful man Tony had ever seen was surrounded by a warm glow of light. Dark hair curled around his face, brilliant blue eyes looked up at him. A luscious mouth, just made for kissing, dropped open in shock. “Tony?”

Tony’s hand went up to the hat he wore, stretched tight over his hair, too small for him by half. “Oh, my god. _Bucky_.”

“Are you… are you real?” Bucky reached out, hesitated. One handed, the other stayed by his side as if he couldn’t move it.

“What else would I be?” Tony took a few steps closer, and then Bucky threw one arm around Tony’s neck and Tony was holding him.

Bucky sniffled and pulled back, just enough to look down into Tony’s face. “I dunno, I hallucinate sometimes,” he admitted. “PTSD, after… well, after.” He jerked his chin to the left, indicating his unmoving arm. “Prosthetic. Useless, decorative thing. Keeps people from starin’. What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Tony said. “Jarvis told me all the staff had arrangements made.”

“Yeah, I…” Bucky licked his lips. “My dad’s been gone a while now. He died a few years back, but the new gardener didn’t want this place, so his stuff’s just been here. I been living in Brooklyn after I came back from Afghanistan. I came back to clean it up. What about you, what are you doing, now that all this is all gonna be closed up.”

“Oh, my god,” Tony said, staring. _Bucky didn’t know._ “Well, I came to get some of my stuff, too. I’m moving out to California for a while.”

“Yeah? Bet it’s nice out there.” Bucky finally let go, and Tony felt the loss of his warm solidness immediately.

“I like it,” Tony said. “I got some friends, some ideas. It’ll be great.”

“Glad you’re real,” Bucky said. “I was lookin’ through my dresser and I found this, and then… there you were. Seemed too much like a flashback or something. But you’re here, Tony. That’s great! I’m glad you’ve got something to go out for. There’s… there’s nothing for me, you know.”

 _This_ , Tony discovered, was a button. Heart shaped and faded pink with age. Bucky had it cupped in his hand like it was a precious treasure.

“Why… why don’t you come with me,” Tony offered, spontaneously. “Spend some time in the sun? Relax for a while. Vacation… it’ll be fun.” He reached out and closed Bucky’s hand gently, leaving his fingers on Bucky’s wrist. “You’re not my only friend anymore, but you’re still th’ first one I ever had.”

Bucky’s smile lit up the sky. “Sure, that… that sounds fun, Tony. I’d like that.”

“Come on up to the house,” Tony said, tugging at him a little. “We can raid Howard’s wine cellar and get caught up.”

Bucky blinked and then… “Oh, shit,” he said, stuttering to a halt. “You’re… you’re _Anthony Stark_.”

“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head that your best friend is a billionaire. I’m still th’ one who made a snowfort _wrong_.”


	2. It Doesn't Have to be a Snowman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Anon asked for 
> 
> "Please, please, a continuation of Tisfan Christmas fanfic about Tony and Bucky building a snowman and then later meeting while they're adults." on the IT&B prompts, and the original fic was not part of the IT&B lineup, so the whole thing posted in full on IT&B...

Bucky had no idea what he was doing.

He finished packing his father’s few things that had been left behind in the old garden house. He didn’t even know what to do with them. Bucky didn’t have a real home anymore; he’d been bumming sofa space with his old Army buddy, Steve, and technically it was Steve’s boyfriend’s house. That Sam had inherited from his mother. Sam hadn’t redecorated, either, so the whole thing was pale yellow and soft green and covered with lacy… stuff.

It was warm, and dry, and that was about all Bucky could say about it. But he was having trouble holding down a job and his benefits package, while generous, didn’t really allow him to live in New York City on his own.

He didn’t even have a place to store all his dad’s crap. He needed to go through it, but the head of house had given him not terribly much notice to get it out. Bucky slanted his eyes at the man who was leaning in the doorway. He supposed that the new head of house actually had given him more time.

He kept checking as he dumped stuff, one handed, into the boxes. Tony had offered to help, once, and Bucky’d given him the brush off. Bucky hated it when people helped him out of pity. It just made everything hurt more. He also hated when the people he was speaking to weren’t real. Sometimes they weren’t. He’d spent months talking to Dum Dum Dugan before Steve had finally taken him aside and reminded him that Dum Dum had died. That the whole fucking squad had died, aside from him, and Bucky.

That Sam had come with his partner, Riley, and rescued their blown up asses. And that Riley hadn’t lived through it, either.

That Steve and Sam had bonded over mutual grief and trauma.

And that Bucky… had not.

He had also brushed Tony off for help because Bucky wasn’t positive that Tony was real.

The kid that Bucky barely remembered? Who’d been, what? Seven, eight? The last time Bucky’d seen him, some fifteen or so years ago?

“What’ve you been doing?” Bucky finally asked him, when the silence was too thick and too full of nothingness to bear any longer. Even if Tony wasn’t there, it didn’t matter.

“I… uh, went to boarding school,” Tony said. “Top of my class, graduated when I was fifteen. Went on to college, the next year. Two years after that, I had my bachelors and was starting on my first doctorate.”

“First,” Bucky scoffed.

“I have three,” Tony said. “Not to brag. I’m pretty smart. For all the good it’s done me.”

“Should I be callin’ you Doctor Stark, then?”

“Not unless you want a snowball upside the head,” Tony answered. “You know, I can have movers come up and pack this, if you want.”

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna do with all this shit,” Bucky said. “Sell it, if any of it’s worth anythin’. Ain’t like I got money for a damn storage unit, and I’m fuckin’ livin’ on my friend’s sofa.”

“No, you’re coming to California with me,” Tony said. “Come on, leave it. Leave it. I’ll get J to pack it up and take it over to Stark Tower. You can figure out what to do with it when you get back.”

“I…”

“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t,” Tony said. “It’s not an inconvenience, and you’re not bothering me, and you’re not leeching off me. We’re friends, right? You come out to Malibu, I can show off my new house, and we’ll have some fun, right?” And damn, but Tony sounded so lost, so concerned, and just a little bit on the needy side.

The man had just lost his parents, too, which Bucky kept forgetting.

“New house?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I built it. All the best architects said it couldn’t be done, couldn’t built there, the cliff’s too unstable. So I… mighta invented a new style of support structure.”

“Pretty smart, for all th’ good it’s done you,” Bucky parroted back. “God, you have to be real, I don’t reckon I could make up nothin’ as fabulously ridiculous as you, Tony Stark.”

“More nightmare than dream, almost everyone would say,” Tony said. “But you might be in the chosen few.” His phone pinged and he checked it. “Great, great. Leave this here, come on. I mean, technically, we can’t be late, the whole point of my having my own plane is that it can’t leave without me, but it’s cold here and I hate this house and I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Bucky looked around the only place he’d ever really belonged. Memories of his dad, memories of the boy he’d once been. Just ghosts now. Like Dum Dum. Everything was ghosts and Bucky was tired of it.

“Yeah, you ain’t even close to what my nightmares look like, Tony,” Bucky said. He shut the box decisively.

It didn’t matter, not anymore.

He’d figure out what to do when he got back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bucky agreed.

“Ready when you are, snowflake,” Tony said.

They went through the main house and Tony turned off all the lights, leaving the mansion in darkness, the furniture covered in drop clothes, like more phantoms. Tony grabbed a crystal bottle filled with some dark liquor and two glasses. He handed them off to a stocky man near the front door.

“Happy, this is Bucky, he’s coming with us,” Tony said. “Bucky, this is Happy. My driver.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Happy said. He got ahead of them, to a waiting limo.

The walkway was slippery with ice, and the prosthetic was no good for maintaining his balance. Bucky took a wrong step, twisted, and almost fell.

Tony reached out, caught his hand. “Steady there, big guy,” he said. “No falling down until after we get drunk.”

His hand was warm in Bucky’s, the fingers strong and callused. Not the hand of a child, or even of a posh rich boy, but the hands of someone who labored. Even once Bucky was steady, Tony didn’t take his hand away, and Bucky discovered he really didn’t want to let go, either.

Something zinged between them, like static, sending sparks of sensation through him.

For the first time in months, Bucky didn’t feel haunted.

For the first time in months, he felt _alive_.

He squeezed Tony’s hand and let the other man lead him down to the limo, to the airport, and eventually, all the way to California.

To start a new life.


End file.
